Civilization has made man, if not always more bloodthirsty, at least more viciously, more horribly bloodthirsty.

To be acutely conscious is a disease, a real, honest-to-goodness disease.

He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely.

...a condemned man who, at the hour of death, says or thinks that if the alternative were offered him of existing somewhere, on a height of rock or some narrow elevation, where only his two feet could stand, and round about him the ocean, perpetual gloom, perpetual solitude, perpetual storm, to remain there standing on a yard of surface for a lifetime, a thousand years, eternity! - rather would he live thus than die at once? Only live, live, live! - no matter how, only live!

Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath.

A special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space.

"I love mankind," he said, "but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular."